The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [125]
“What mice?”
“The mice in the shed.”
Simon’s thumb traced the side of her face. “There were mice in the shed?”
“All night long.” Dina shook her head. “Party, party, party.”
Simon raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Sarah threw some dried corn into the shed before she left me there. Just to make sure I didn’t have to spend the night alone.”
“That was thoughtful of her.”
“It was the longest night of my life.” Dina shivered. “And you left out the fact that I was responsible for Sarah’s death.”
“Dina, there’s no one who doesn’t know that that was an accident.”
“I just never saw her until the last second, and even then, she almost appeared like a shadow. I will never forget what those minutes were like, knowing she was dying, knowing I was responsible for taking a life. Even her life. You don’t forget something like that easily, Simon. I doubt I ever will.”
“No one could forget, Dina, but you can’t focus your life on that moment, either. Sarah’s death was an accident, and frankly, if anyone was responsible, it was Sarah herself. Her intent in luring you there was to find out where Jude was, so that she could kill her, then kill you, too. Not to make light of the situation, but Sarah Decker wasn’t an innocent party. She was a murderer. And while you can’t change what’s happened, you can try to put it behind you.” Simon drew her to him. “You can start over and go on from here. After all, you have a new life, a new family to get to know.”
“Will you be part of my starting over, Simon?” She touched his face. “Will you be part of my new life?”
“I hope so. I want to be.”
Simon lowered his mouth and kissed her, long and hard, all of the emotions of the past week swelling inside and taking him over. He kissed her again, ignored the pounding in his head and the sweet licks of heat that invaded his body. Her mouth was hot and sweet and all Simon knew for certain at that particular moment was that he was one hell of a lucky guy on this overcast morning.
“Simon.” She placed one finger over his lips, her face flushed, her mouth so ripe that he could barely hear her voice for staring at it. “I just want you to know that I do appreciate that you’ve postponed writing the story. Maybe someday you’ll decide to write it, but for now, I appreciate that you’ve put it aside. I don’t have words to thank you. It’s a hell of a lot to give up.”
Simon shrugged. “Actually, I pretty much gave it up when I gave the story to the Henderson police after Sarah’s death. I couldn’t very well come back later with something else. Unless, of course, I have a desire to go to prison for giving false statements to the police. Obstructing justice. That sort of thing.” He paused, then nibbled at her bottom lip. “I have desires right now, but they have absolutely nothing to do with defending myself in court.”
“Well then, why don’t you tell me about them?” Dina rose and pulled Simon with her. “You can do that while I show you my carriage house.”
“Sounds like one hell of a plan.” Simon took the hand she offered and fell in step with her.
“Oh, it is.” She closed the gap between them and quickened her step. “I think you’ll like it. . . .”
Dina turned over the sign on the greenhouse door to read CLOSED as they walked past. She unlocked the carriage house door and held it open for Simon, then locked it behind them.
“My home,” she said simply.
“Strong colors on the walls and the furniture, enough flowers to make it feminine, enough clutter to make it homey. I’d say it reflects you well.”
“Thank you.” Dina started up the steps. “But I think you should see the rest of the place before you pass judgment.”
“Hmmm. You have a point.” Simon nodded. “I sure wouldn’t want to make any hasty conclusions. . . .”
From the top of the steps, Simon could see into Dina’s bedroom—the old four-poster bed upon which an old quilt spread comfortably, the sheer curtains that blew aside in the gentle morning breeze. Dina stood at the side of the bed, her hands pulling back her hair as she watched him pause in the doorway. Every nerve in her body